


Cerebral Division

by JoeKerr



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, Dirty Talk, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Domestic Fluff, I mean he legit a violence fuck, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, More tags to be added, Multiple Personalities, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pain Kink, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Unrequited Love, Very Dubious Consent, dark!ed is a dick, one sided sexual interaction, sorry pengy, very sadistic ed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeKerr/pseuds/JoeKerr
Summary: Edward Nygma never had what one could consider a 'healthy mind'. He is in fact very ill upstairs. The other side of him makes fun of him for it, this of course only proving his insanity to himself. He'd laugh if it weren't so horrifying.But this 'other side' continually becomes dangerously more autonomous, leaving Ed with more time unaccounted for, more and more holes in his memory. An interaction he doesn't remember, he wasn't there, it wasn't him, stains the relationship with a man he only remembers meeting once.This story follows Edwards spiral downwards to the severely fractured psyche Oswald sees in his friend today.AKA an exploration/slight rewriting of Gotham from season one onwards focusing on Ed's disastrous mental health.





	1. Chapter 1

Quivering vocal chords let out a choked plea, not of words but sweet sounds that makes Edward feel lightheaded. His heart beating fast - though not as fast as the pulse he feels hammering under his tightening hand. Clenching and releasing slightly, hovering in the heaven that is the realm between a choking and breathing man. He allows just enough breath in to keep the noises going, incidentally keeping the play thing alive, but only just. The desperation exuding from this pathetic man strokes Ed’s ego. His pretty tears flooding his mind with lewd thoughts. His pitiful cries send waves of pleasure to Ed’s crotch.

He’s smiling manically, keeping a cackle back but only just. Small giggles and chuckles spill over from time to time. He could do this forever, he thinks. But alas he knows he doesn’t have the time. “Oh Pengy” His voice but a low grumble, dripping in feigned pity and sorrow. He releases the pale neck of the man below him slightly, then using his leverage and strength over the man, pushing him by the throat, shoving his face and torso to the cold ground.

The penguin can do nothing, his entire body aching from lack of oxygen and blood, exhausted from struggling against his attacker. Ed devours the gangster with his eyes, the high of dominating him fills every crevice within him. Oswald makes choked coughing sounds as he tried to regain his breath, his abused throat seems like it’s bruised closed and will never open again.

With a pleased grin across his face, Ed crouches down in front of Oswald and cups the exposed side of his face in one hand, eliciting terrified shivers and shakes. The once arrogant Penguin’s eyes are red and teary but so wide it looks painful, a large bruise is quickly forming around this previously perfect throat. Covered in sweat, inky black hair sticking wherever Ed desired it to, his usually pristine suit absolutely disheveled. “You’re beautiful.” Ed says, not to Oswald but to himself, as if Oswald were a piece of art, an object. The involuntary shaking and whimpering below him never ceasing. Edward hums to himself, please as peaches.

After drinking up Oswald’s tears, his sorrow and shame, his delightful pain, Ed moves the body again. Shoving and pushing, his usually careful hands force themselves upon abused throat and boney shoulders, forcing the small man up and against the equally cold wall. If not for Edward’s pinning him there, he’d surely have slid down, unable to hold his own weight in his present state. 

Edward notices his breathing is perhaps louder and more laboured than it needed to be, but he was having far too much fun for something so mundane to bother him. He takes face in front of him, fingers on one cheek, thumb pressing into the other, his palm across the jaw, pressing slightly on the bruised neck. He examines the bird, slowly, deciding yes, a bird. Nothing could so perfectly describe the specimen in his hand. A helpless bird with a broken wing. He smiles to himself as he uses his own long leg to push Oswald’s short demented leg in just the right way to cause the most amount of pain. No sounds came from the broken bird, he screamed silently with his face contorting into an ugly red mess. 

After reminding the bird just how broken he is, how he’s as good as dead, his leg is allowed to fall back into a more comfortable position. The comfort was of course relative. Edward pushed himself further into the Penguin, achieve his goal of causing painful pressure on the wrecked body and increasing the delightful pressure in his own pants. Two birds with one stone he thinks with a small chuckle. His body moving roughly on the small broken man below, small, slow, dragging movements while he grabbed harshly at the pained joints and red sensitive skin. Every once in awhile he’d look to the wide sea green and red eyes, and snarl. 

He devoured his prey. It was utterly blissful, only for him. He made sure only he was enjoying it. Getting himself off but never allow the other so much as an ounce of pleasure between the pain. Edward pushed and grabbed and scratched and tore and bit. But he never so much as ran his lips over the bloody wounds. This was about him. It was Edward’s time to do what he, and he alone wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ok... that sure was a way to start a fic.  
> Chapter 2 will be lighter I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn light dances through the ornate curtains of the Van Dahl Mansion, flickering through the thin gap between them. Peaceful and serene, Ed was a morning person, rising with the sun more often than not. With no delay his eyes flicker open and his limbs come to life, he shifts out from the plush covers and places his bare feet on the hardwood floor. He sits on the edge, breathing in the cool but musty air, most would find the ever present dampness and must rather objectionable but he’s accustomed to it now, makes him feel at home.

As he rises from the large and luxurious bed the floor creaks underneath him, the small noises follow Ed as he makes his way slowly to the kitchen. Naturally light on his feet the creaks still echo through the old house, but he worries not, his friend in the master suite is a long and heavy sleeper. Moving slower and more carefully than if it were a later hour, Ed begins on breakfast, enjoying the quiet solidarity. It feels like these mornings are his only true time alone, the only time he has without venomous words, endless riddles and thought spirals. He exhales from the bottom of his chest, he feels cleansed. These mornings were peaceful, and precious.

He could’ve made this in less than 20 minutes, but he enjoys taking him time on these mornings. Taking slow, methodical, and calculated movements. Perfection was easy, and the only acceptable way to cook a meal. The methodical perfection soothed his usually buzzing mind. Whenever his mind would allow he’d indulge in such therapeutic activities. Living with Oswald, Ed found his mind would quiet enough to grant his small pleasures like this. It had become normal.

The minute hand clicks over to begin another revolution around the grandfather clock stood in the hallway. Precisely 8 o’clock as when his first knuckle knocks on the heavy wooden door, another knock. Barely audible shuffling can be heard from the other side. Upon opening the door Ed is met with the endearing sight of his friend stirring in his nest of blankets, pillows astray, found discarded on the floor.

In a perfect world, Ed thinks, he’d sleep neatly, head rested upon the pillows, blankets resting over his out stretched body, still too short to come near the end of the bed, he’d sit up as Ed places the tray of perfection over his lap. ‘Thank you,’ he’d say with a sleepy smile as he took a sip of the freshly squeezed juice.

But alas, Oswald is not so graceful in reality, at least not before noon. Ed gives his friend a few moments to shuffle into a more ready position as he gathers the tray from the side table lining the hall. Now sitting up against a tangle of blankets shoved to the headboard, another blanket tangled around his flannel clad legs. Presented with the tray Oswald his a groggy and weak thanks. Oswald was strangely captivating in such a state. Ed couldn’t help but touch the disheveled locks, so many refusing conform to his will. Dark circles on pale skin, surrounding blue-green eyes make for a stark juxtaposition, highlighting the brilliant blue and glow skin only interrupted by a modest sprinkling of pale freckles. Still his unruly hair is a tangled chaotic mess, one might even describe it as a birds nest. Ed chuckles slightly to himself. Oswald is chaos. And Ed loved it.

Oswald made his way through the extensive breakfast. Picking and choosing, eating only what he please. Not that such pickiness bothered Ed, Oswald’s refined tastes serves as the highest compliment when he enjoys himself. The sleepy-eyed man eats a few bites from each party of the meal, the fruit, chorizo and cherry tomato omelet, french toast, cream cheese and salmon bagel. He did finish the juice though, blackcurrant and pomegranate. A dazed smile appears on his face. Another success.

Ed moves swiftly over to the free standing cupboard, the doors swing creaking on their rusted hinges to reveal more suits than any other man would own in his life. This makes Ed’s daily decision all the harder, forever wondering if he’s picked the right one for the right day. He thinks upon today’s activities; mayoral appearance at a newly reopened hospital, various duties to attend to in the mayor's office, underworld meeting at the mansion regarding tariffs and territory redistribution on the west side, and finally a charity dinner. A long day then, something comfortable, if not particularly mayoral. Oswald can change before the dinner if he desires. Running his fingers over the jackets, feeling each for their texture, thickness, examining each colour and cut.

Deciding upon a pure black suit, crisp but soft white shirt. Moving onto the arguably more important decision of the tie, violet and maroon cravat. With only one public appearance Oswald will be able to get away with a darker wardrobe today. Oswald slow makes his way out of bed as Edward lies out his clothes, moving to gather the shoe polish. Finally the still groggy Oswald stumbles out of bed, the first few steps are always the hardest on his stiff mal-healed leg. He removes the oversized tee shirt, not quite alert enough to concern himself with the cold on his newly exposed skin. Ed takes his leave with the remains of breakfast, leaving Oswald to shower in his vast ensuite.

Oswald regularly indulges in impractically long showers, Ed takes the time to clean up, dress himself, brush his teeth and do his hair. Once ready he strolls back to Oswald’s room. He re-enters to find Oswald putting on a leather belt. Ed rarely thought of person boundaries, and happily for him, neither did Oswald. Ed assists the now slightly more awake Oswald, hair still damp, only quickly towel dried. This was another of Ed’s quiet soothing activities. Doing up buttons, folding bits and tieing bits and pieces. Wordlessly they prepare him for the day ahead.

Ed knew he was being more of a butler than a friend, or even a chief of staff. But he felt an undying need do these things for Oswald, there was just something about him that compelled such assistance.

_ He’s just pathetic mumma's boy, that's why. _

His morning quiet coming to an end, a small amount of dread fills him.

_ C’mon, you’re doting on him like a mother. _

He lets the voice continue, his tolerance not yet depleted.

_ You should be harder on him. He should be making you breakfast, or maybe we should just have him for breakfast. He could dress up for us. Wouldn’t that be delicious Eddie? _

Ed’s eye twitches at the insinuation. Not yet so irritated to lash out or say something but annoyance slowly builds.

_ Mmm yeah, you know he would. _

He lets the visual roll around Ed’s mind for a few more moments.

_ I mean the least you could do is make him cut this mumma’s boy shit. Replace place his laughable need for motherly affection with a burning desire to please daddy. _

Ed goes cold for a moment, then hot, feeling blood run to places he’d rather not think about right now.

_ First riddle of the day Eddie! What’s white, sticky, and rather impressive to swallow? _

His mind, preoccupied with deviant things, jumps the the obvious dirty answer. He dismisses it but is unable to dismiss the riddle altogether without correctly answer it. “Toothpaste” he says quietly.

Apparently not quietly enough as Oswald asks “Hm? What?”

“Toothpaste” Ed says too quickly, “I have to brush my teeth.” He corrects, and quickly leaves the room, trying his best to cover up his embarrassment. He all but runs back to his room, heart thumping in his ears. The voice in his head laughing maniacally at him.

_ Look at you! _

His laughter burns against Ed’s reddening skin. Shutting his door and leaning against it, letting out a breath of only mild relief.

_ Ha! You’re like a 12 year old that just got his first look at a a pair of tits! _

“I’m tall when I’m young and I’m short when I’m old. What am I?” He murmurs in an attempt to distract from the embarrassing urges. “A candle.” His voice becoming breathier.

“If I drink, I die. If i eat, I am fine. What am I?”

“Fire.” The practice not so distracting as he had hoped.

“What has 4 eyes but can’t see?”

“Mississippi.” Self-restraint failing him.

“I appear once in a year, twice in a week, and never in a day. What am I?” his gives in ever so slightly and lets one hand glide over and press into himself, in an attempt to relieve some of the unbearable pressure.

“The letter ‘E’.” Breath heavy, sweat already forming on his brow.

_ Give it up, Eddie. Undo those too tight pants, Wrap that your shaking hands over that painfully hard distraction. Mmm yes. No. No, no. I have a better idea. Get your ass back to lover boy, shove him over the vanity and take him! Pound into him, pull his hair, force him to watch himself. Degrade him in the most primal way. Imagine feeling of him quivering around you, imagine his tears, his cries and moans, imagine how he’d take a hot sticky load. So pretty. _

Ed was lost in the words, hand jerking with no elegance, no delicacy. Leg muscles burning from the held tension and strain of pushing himself further against the door.

_Wow!_   _I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long!_

The venomous laughter turns to shame within him, he won’t last long. And he needs this to be over. He lets go of his remaining inhibition. Less than 20 seconds and Ed is spilling over his hand, dripping onto the floor. Thank god for hardwood floors in old houses, he thinks.

Knees weak, the clouds of pleasure clearing and Ed remembers the shame and humiliation he would be feeling. The slight shock spurring him to correct himself quickly, cleaning up the resulting mess, tucking things away, straightening others. He lets out a disappointed breath. He tried to take his mind off the distasteful events of the last few minutes. Riddles quietly fill his mind in the absence of filthy thoughts. His mind, now more innocent, returns to Oswald. He may not have time to fuss over his appearance much longer, the day awaits. And Edward hates tardiness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day working in the lab at the GCPD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning:   
> Mental health issues
> 
> Dark!Ed's horrifically kink if not, non-con thoughts and Ed's infatuation with Kristen (Thoughts only, no acting upon)  
> Skip the end if you don't like (little bearing on overall plot)

“Ed!” Captain Sarah Essen’s authoritative but reassuringly familiar voice breaks Edward from his present thought spiral. 

 

“What has no…” He mumbles almost in audible. Almost. The Captain gives him a concerned by caring look, as she has so many times. He hadn’t meant for the spiral to escape through his mouth. Stupid, he can’t even keep thoughts where they belonged, he scolds himself quickly before answering the question Essen had yet to vocalise. His experience in similar scenarios suggested he was to answer that question regardless. 

 

Edward looked up to the Captain from his crouched position over the two bodies. “Blunt force trauma to the head, both of them. This one also has several perimortem stab wounds.” Essen voiced her thanks to Ed, who returned it with a quietly proud smile. He liked Essen, she seemed to understand him, or at least tolerate him better than most others. He found most in the GCPD to be rather ungrateful and rude, never appreciating him, maybe with the exception of Jim Gordon, but Ed was still undecided on the do-gooder detective.

 

Harvey, as usual asks questions he knows full well Ed cannot answer without examining the body further, and as was recently highlighted, he was not in facts the medical examiner. Ed hated Harvey. He thinks. Maybe. He’s not sure actually. Harvey is certainly not  _ nice _ to Ed by any means, but something about him drove Ed to crave his approval more than most on the force. Perhaps he wanted the same connection Jim has with him. If he thinks about it, he wants rather desperately to be added to their friendship, a third musketeer if you will. His inner voice corrects him, four musketeers. Ed agrees, there were in facts four best friends. He wonders ‘who would be our fourth?’, but just for a second - before his thoughts sweep the question away from him. 

 

The thought of him, Jim and Harvey being friends makes Ed laugh. He has to laugh. Though he’s not sure why. A cheerful laugh at how nice that would be? A laugh at the ridiculous notion that they’d ever befriend him? Or a laugh at himself for wanting their friendship and approval? These questions are quickly pushed away by the job at hand. Why do thoughts only ever stay for a millisecond or overstay their welcome to the point of nausea? Again these thoughts are quick to disappear, replaced by his usual riddles, questions and answers rolling around his head endlessly.

 

His thoughts distract him as the day continues onward. He does his job, well. Better than anyone else in the city could, he might add. But he knows he’s not running at full power. Just cruising, plotting along while his thoughts run elsewhere. Edward never thought about his thoughts. Any time he did he’d his mind would wander else where and suddenly it's four hours later, like he’s jump forwards in time. 

 

But today he keeps things simple, preferring the safety and comfort of playing Q&A with his mind.

 

What are the effects of hallucinogens?

Changes in normal thought processes, perceptions, and moods.

What are ibuprofen, acetaminophen, acetylsalicylic acid and naproxen classified as?

Analgesics

 

The topic only mildly relevant just one of his current cases. Body of an elderly woman, liver, kidney and one lung removed. The mention of liver sent him down a toxicology spiral earlier today.

 

Ethyl alcohol is a-

Depressant

Stop tests determine whether a white powder is cocaine-

False. It determines whether a white powder is  _ not _ cocaine.

Chromatography is-

A technique that separates the components of a mixture

 

Questions firing rapidly, but his answers are always faster. This is the game he’s played in his head for years.

 

Narcotics-

Refers to substances derived from the poppy plant.

A body found in a burned house with blood that lacks carboxyhemoglobin-

Died before the fire.

“A burnt almond odor coming from a bod-”

“What?” Gordon’s voice interrupts. Oh no, he gathers he must’ve said something out loud. Stupid!

Looking stunned and wanting nothing more than to simple say ‘nothing’ he struggles wordlessly. It so easy, just say ‘oh nothing Jim sorry.’ Just say that!

“Cyanide.” He blurts, trying to do so as quietly and nonchalantly as he could manage. The gears in his mind refuse to slow, still spinning out of control.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Ed hates himself, and his compulsive need to answer the question he posed to himself. Frustration and anxiety build within.

“The rich need it, the poor have, if you eat it you’ll die. What am I?” He stammers out too quickly, hating each word as they escape his mouth. He mentally kick himself. He can hear the stronger side of his psyche mocking him for his total inability to answer a question, or even just interact with another in a normal matter. “Shut up” He whispers quickly, with all his frustration at his own lack of control turning to venom in his voice. He takes a breath, lowing both his voice and brow, self loathing and frustration erase the anxiety that filled him just moments ago.

 

No answer. As expected from any of these feeble minded cops, that other side of him spits the thoughts like acid in Edward's mind.

“Nothing,” He tries to relax, is aware of his own social ineptitudes “It was nothing. Ha,” A single nervous laugh stammers out. That didn’t help. Ed knows how he  _ should _ act. He understands social grace, but can never seem to perform. Again he’s kicking himself - not sure which side of him, probably both, he thinks.

 

Jim gives a polite but ultimately dismissive smile, lips held together tightly across his perfectly masculine face. Yeah, that friendship’s going so well! Ed’s becoming tired of the voice in the back of his mind, wishing he could banish it back to wherever it is he lingers when not insulting Ed. He fights of the impulse to tell it to shut up again, this time his rationality wins out. Thank goodness.

 

Jim clears his throat in an attempt to forget the awkward interaction, as he so often has to do with Ed. It hurts. Ed is aware of others see him. Unsociable, annoying. To some, like Jim and the Captain, he’s just a socially awkward savant, someone typical of the autism spectrum. To others, like Harvey and, he feared, Kristen, he was more unsettling, sinister - a serial killer just waiting to happen, people have told him right to his face that he ‘needs help’ or is ‘crazy’, ‘insane’ ‘unhinged’. Those words stung, he’d admit he was a little different but this hurt. Hurt like it would hurt anyone. Really his intellect is his only redeeming quality, and the vast majority of people didn’t seem to care for any intellect, preferring to wallow in ignorance and stupidity for their entire lives. Ed stops his conscious thoughts for a moment. Takes a breath. This isn’t the time. There is no need to dwell on such matters.

 

“Any progress on the fingers from this morning?”

 

“Well,” He clears his throat, hoping to do the same to his mind. “I’m still running tests but from what I know so far is that the 10 fingers make up a right and a left hand.” Ed pauses for effect, misleading Jim momentarily, “But” He sings, enjoying the small mystery, “Each finger is from a different person.” Jim gives him a skeptical look, his mind surely running through any deductions or conclusions he can fathom. Ed continues, having held out as long as he could on spilling the beans, “Decomposition and preliminary particulate analysis suggest each finger was removed at roughly the same in totally different regions around the world.” Not bothering to pause and allow Jim a moment to hypothesis Ed keeps going. “The locations are only an estimate, but each may be from a different time zone if not country.”

 

“I would go with timezone for now, though of course it will take more analysis to determine the exact time zone with any sort of accuracy, but timezones, fingers, hands!” He finishes excitedly hoping Jim will catch on, which he doesn’t.

 

“There’s an awful lot of numbers here, or perhaps even… a riddle.” Jim gives Ed an almost sympathetic look but Ed doesn’t let it sour his momentary fun. “What has two hands and a face, but no arms?”

 

“A clock!” Too excited to give Jim a chance his words come out too fast. “A clock, time zones!”

 

Jim drawls out a sarcastic “Right… But our guy had his head bashed in and his arms were fine.”

 

“Ah-ha,” Ed agrees, happy to have Jim along for the intellectual ride. “Each finger appears to have been removed with little care, causing a lot of trauma and damage to the site of amputation, similarly the face sustained damage, indicating these are the points of interest.” Circling around the lab Ed takes one of the fingers to examine closely, “I wonder…” Jim lifts his chin inviting further explanation. “Time, geographical location, body parts, fingers, knuckles, bones, measurements - numbers are everywhere Jim, I’m looking for the answer. It’ll be in the fingers.” He leans over the single finger, magnified enormously as he searches every millimeter, mentally noting any connection to numbers. 

 

Jim shifts on his feet, hands in pockets. “I’ll leave you too it then.” His voice dropping of slightly at the end, if he were not so engrossed in the riddle before him he might note Jim sounded like he thought Ed was weird, or wrong or crazy- but there are better distractions than the opinion of Jim Gordon.

 

Having completed the extreme thorough examination Ed’s next step was the analyse the amputation site, specifically the kind of blade used. He is perhaps jumping the gun a little, having not yet examined the other fingers nor started the next particulate analysis test, but he’d not seen Ms Kringle today and he was absolutely itching for it, he  _ needed _ to see her, to gaze upon her if only for a moment. Without further consultation to the rational work-orientated side of his mind he makes his way to the file room, still energised from the recent discovery his steps were light, chipper and confident. It was times like these that Ed had the courage to talk to Ms Kringle, this knowledge excited him further. 

  
  


The door swings open almost hitting Ed in the face. Out storms some meat head beat cop, testosterone fueled rage beaming off him. Ed side stepped him quickly, not looking to be shoved like the door. Once the beast passed Ed peered into the dark file room and found her, Ms Kringle standing out so vividly from the dull surroundings she was trapped by. “You’re crying,” He will later hate that he opened what should have been an attempt to comfort her with a statement of the obvious. “M-Miss Kringle, are you ok? What happened?” He resisted the urge to touch her, Ed’d been told an unwelcome touch was inappropriate and can come off as creepy - he valued his continuing interactions with her more than the instant gratification of any physical contact. Her sobs ring in his ears and pluck at his heart. He turns back to close the door, he knows Miss Kringle would not want everyone seeing her like this. He walked back over more slowly, seeing her face red and wet, Ed wanted nothing more than to make it stop. 

 

Feelings overcoming his reason Ed reaches out, placing fingertips either side of her glasses frames, face still buried in her hands she didn’t move. Taking it as accent Ed relieves her of the spectacles, folding them and placing them neatly on the desk she was sitting before. Ed noticed a glass of water on a filing cabinet, it seemed relatively fresh and decided to play his chances. “Miss Kringle…” Whatever sweet thing Ed thought he was going to say was eaten by his own social ineptitude, “Dehydration is very common after um, crying. And can lead to headaches.” He bit his tongue before he explained anything more. With a hearty sniffle Miss Kringle looked to Ed, he was crouched before her offering the glass of water with all the love and care held in big brown eyes shining back at her.

 

“Thank you.” She took the glass, taking a few sips before replacing on her desk. 

 

Unable to resist any longer Ed gave into the compulsion to take her hand in his. He slowly, delicately held her hand, the one with the palm open to the ceiling, looking for any sign of displeasure at the uninvited contact. But none came, he held her hand as it laid still in her lap. His eyes wouldn’t leave the beautiful site until her voice shook him from the dream he thought he’d fallen into. “I’m sorry. This- This is stupid.”

 

Ed quickly denies her, “No, it’s not stupid you’re hurt.” He’s not sure whether that was the socially best thing to do, shutting her down, denying her opinion, but he couldn’t let her say that her feelings were stupid. “What happened?” Ed’s care was earnest and genuine, he felt intense empathy even without knowing what happened. 

 

She laughs, her voice croaky from crying, she swallows before saying, “Just a bad end to a bad relationship.” 

 

“I’m very sorry about that.”

 

Don’t be.” She quickly followed up, Ed felt like she really meant it. “He was a jerk, just like every other jerk. I really need to stop dating muscley cops - they’re all the same, fun and exciting but absolute assholes after a month.” She laughs again, at herself, slightly bitter. “I should really learn from my mistakes.” Ed was absent mindedly rubbing his thumb over the soft hand, his touch light as a feather, fearing she’s steal back her hand if she noticed. They talked, well Ed mostly listened, for a while. Ed forgot the dark room all his senses filled with the beauty before him. 

 

A knock on the door broke the spell, Kristen sniffed again, she detangled her hand from Ed’s and quickly wiped her eyes, careful of the makeup, that impressively had stayed intact, stood and brushed her skirt down before answering “Yes?”  As was the customary greeting given to any about to enter the file room. Ed knew his moment was over. He gave Miss Kringle a shy smile before his eyes returned to the floor. As the new arrival entered the spell was broken, the dream was over, their time at an end. “Was there anything else you needed, Mr Nygma?” 

 

“No I- I should be getting back-” He left quickly shuffling past the other man who’d begun enquiring about something or other. Back in the lab Ed was more than content with today’s interaction. He thinks he’ll treasure the memory forever.

 

“You idiot!” Ed could have sworn he heard that out loud, but it was only the nagging voice in the back of his head, or perhaps now more aptly the front of his head. But he’s used to the voice, so much so that he keeps working without more than a blink.

 

“Go after her!” He voice is louder now, a bit harder to ignore but Ed perseveres. 

 

The voice sighs, exasperated. “She’s single now, go get a piece of that” Ed knows the disrespectful language used by the voice is simply an outlet for his frustration, he’d never say such things, or even think them consciously. Still he feels torn between defending Miss Kringle and apologising for thinking such impolite things.

 

“C’mon, this might be the only chance you ever get! A face like that doesn’t stay single for long.” 

 

Showing no sign of stopping the nagging and pushing, Ed gives in a little and mutters to himself “Shut up.”

 

“You know I’m right. I’m always right.” Ed’s starting to think this meaner side of his subconscious simply enjoys the sound of his own voice. He resolves to continue ignoring it, adjusting the headlamp to refocus himself on the task at hand.

 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie… I know what you think of her, what you want to  _ do _ to her. I’m in that filthy head of yours.” He laughs while Ed shakes his head to both deny the allegation and banish the thoughts. 

 

“Oooh the things you would do… Absolutely obscene, sunshine! I mean, even I think some of it’s a bit much.” His laugh is mockingly cheerful. “But when life gives you lemons, my little man, you gotta grab em real tight!”

 

“I mean just look at her, walking around like she’s all that. Playing innocent, pretending to give a shit about you. Well maybe she’s right to. After all you do  _ really _ scare her. At least you’ve got that on your side. But pal, you gotta scare her in a sexy way, not a gross nerdy robot way, ya know? Show her who’s boss. Invade her space a little, take a few liberties, but for god sake do it with some confidence.”

 

“Just walk up to her, take her space, be authoritative, hey even grab her ass.” A snickering laugh grates against Ed’s ears. “Get close. Chicks love a guy who makes them feel vulnerable, a guy to takes what he wants.”

 

“You  _ know _ a girl with her track record of bums has some  _ serious _ daddy issues. I bet if you  _ made _ her call you Daddy she’d melt right into you. Just soaking at the thought of the power you hold over her.” Ed feels nauseous but determined not to look like the freak everyone thinks he is, he’ll not respond to a voice he known very well is only in his head. “Imagine how she’d feel. Soft trembling flesh beneath us. Did you see how pretty she looked with tears in her eyes?” The voice hums sounds of satisfied pleasure into Ed’s ear. “We could make her really cry. Spank her like the naughty little girl she is. Yeah I know you’d enjoy that.” 

 

“I bet she gives the best head. Those pouty lips…” He lets out another groan only audible to Ed, “We could choke her on our cock. What a truly beautiful site that would be. Or dominate her entirely, bind her up, ropes, cuffs, chains, shit you’ve never even thought about, and just taker her. Spit on the slut and make her thank us for it. Slap her around a bit and have her crawl-” 

 

Ed interrupts the stream of filth with a roar of frustration. His furious at the voice for suggesting such things, but his heart rate is up, he’s breathing heavily and his pants are painfully tight. He escapes into the bathroom, being sure no one sees him. He knows there's only one way to stop these thoughts now. Face already flushed he locks himself in, already filled with guilt he bites his fist to silence himself. His other hand quick and nimble in undoing the familiar belt and zipper. The voice had followed him in, pouring more salt on the wound spurring Ed on as he inelegantly bring himself to orgasm. 

 

A sick feeling follows him for the rest of the day, the voice was gone but the words and the effect of those words still lingered in his mind. His previously chipperness successfully extinguished by self-hatred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is non-linear, let me know if you need guidance as to when chapters are set, I could put like "Pre season 2" or "S03E04" etc. in the notes before the chapter. Let me know anyway.


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